The Pocket Watch
by Dragons4ever
Summary: A pocket watch from her father sends Maka to a large room that only contains a man without a face and a mannequin covered in clothes from times long past. The man gives her task which seems simple enough: go through time to find the other watch owner and she can go home. But there's a catch... Full summary inside. Written for Reverb 2015.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Wow, OK, here's my contribution to reverb 2015! I had a huge amount of fun writing this story and working with my wonderful partner makascythemeister. Huge thanks to reverb mods for organising the event and to everyone in the skype chat for listening to me moaning. Link to the wonderful art to accompany this fic is here

Full summary: A pocket watch from her father sends Maka to a large room that only contains a man without a face and a mannequin covered in clothes from times long past. The man gives her task which seems simple enough: go through time to find the other watch owner and she can go home. But there's a catch. She only has 48 hours in each time period, and no memory of her home or her quest. All she has is a broken pocket watch, a longing for something she can't quite name, and the faint whispering of a voice she does not recognise telling her that time is running out…

Enjoy!

* * *

Maka was jolted awake by the sensation of falling and blinked up at her ceiling blearily. Light peaked in through her curtains telling her it was at least morning, though she did not know what time it actually was. As her heart rate slowed, she let herself relax and sink back into her pillows. Her dream had been…strange, though she could not quite remember what it was about. Something to do with time and a man in a suit?

It slipped from her fingers before she could really think about it however, so she closed her eyes and sighed. Perhaps she could get a little more sleep before—

She was startled again by the ringing of her alarm and she sung out an arm to silence it. She stayed still for a moment, soaking up the warmth of her bed before forcing herself out of it, grimacing as she went. As she walked to her dresser to retrieve her clothes for the day she stretched and rubbed the sleep sand from her eyes.

Once she was dressed in her work suit, freshly washed and ironed for the new working week, she brushed her ash blonde hair, pinned it up at the back of her head, and applied a little bit of make-up. Then she grabbed her satchel, checked it had all she needed, and then before she left her room to secure breakfast, she returned to her bedside table to pick up her pocket watch.

And then stopped.

She did not own a pocket-watch. She did not need one for she had a perfectly working wrist-watch—a gift from her mother before she left to travel—and thought it was rather impractical to have to carry the thing.

And yet, there it was, lying in her palm, cool to the touch after having been out all night.

The watch was silver in colour, though dulled in some places, with the cover decorated in an intricate cursive design. With her thumb, Maka pressed the button at the top of the watch, opening it to reveal 'Lillian' inscribed on the cover's inside and a clock face in roman numerals.

However the watch was not working.

Distantly, as though from the opposite side of a house, she heard someone—a man—telling her that time was ticking.

But even as she tried to focus on the voice and the person who had spoken, it slipped from her mind like smoke through her fingers.

She blinked and looked down at her hand. Oh, yes, the watch. Something she had bought for herself in her first month in New York and with part of her first paycheque. Though the owner of the antique store she had bought it from told her it was broken (and probably beyond repair) she had taken it. It was pretty and old, and spoke to her in a way few material possessions did. It withstood the test of time, just as she was determined to do.

After slipping the watch into her bag she left her room to pursue food. Maybe her neighbour across the hall, Jackie, would be kind enough to share her porridge. She always made it toasty and hot.

* * *

On the platform, waiting for the train to come and take her to work, Maka took a rare moment to observe those around her instead of pulling out the book in her bag.

Most of the people on the platform were men in suits, though there were a few women dotted around, herself included. All the benches were taken up, mostly by people reading newspapers.

Maka stood beside one of those benches, satchel handle clasped tightly in her hands, rolling her eyes over the crowd. Her godfather back home, strange man though he was, had always told her she had a gift for reading people, like she could see their souls, and ever since he had told her that as young girl, she had taken to imagining what others' souls would actually look like.

Perhaps it was foolish of her to do so now, since she was all grown-up and a long way from home and the girl she used to be, but it wiled away the time.

The man who was sitting at the end of the bench next to her stood up suddenly, and with his briefcase in hand, walked off. Maka watched him with mild curiosity as to where he was going, before she turned her attention to the now empty space on the bench.

After hesitating briefly, Maka reached for the newspaper the man had left behind in his place, and moved to take the space. Before she did however, the manners her mother had taken a great deal of time to drill into her head came back to her.

"Excuse me," she said to the main sitting next to her prospective place.

He seemed startled to be called upon and jumped a little before turning away from his own paper to look up at her with wide eyes. With some degree of surprise herself, she noticed that he had eyes that looked almost red, with blonde hair light enough to look white underneath his hat.

Regaining her sense, she put a smile on her face and asked, "Can I have this seat?" while pointing at the space.

He raised an eyebrow, but smiled a little in return. "Sure," he said in a deep voice. "Be my guest." Then he returned to his paper.

She grinned and plopped down into her new seat, and unfolded the newspaper on her lap. "Thank you."

From the corner of her eyes she saw him hold back a surprised scoff and a small smile before he checked his watch and ruffled his paper for effect.

She bit back a giggle and turned to her own paper. After glancing at the top to check it was in date (12th September 1955) she scanned the front page for interesting articles. After finding such a one, she opened the paper to the right page and let the time pass.

Occasionally (though she really should have called it _often_ ) she stole glances at the oddly featured stranger sitting next to her. He created an over-whelming curiosity in her, not only about his looks but also about _him_ as well. She felt like there was some sort of connection between them, a strange almost-familiarity she could not explain or truly describe.

After debating with herself for many minutes, she opened her mouth to actually talk to him—maybe aske his name and place of work—when her train pulled up to the platform. Surprised at having missed the announcement that it was approaching, she jumped to feet.

Without much thought, as she grabbed her satchel from her feet and moved away from the bench she called, "Have a nice day!" and waved to the white-haired man.

Just as her actions registered in her mind as something strange, but before the embarrassment could flush on her cheeks, the white-haired man waved back with a bemused smile on his face.

As she found herself a spot on the train, she felt her cheeks burn and little butterflies erupt in her stomach. However, she clenched her fists tight enough for her nails to dig into her palms and forced herself to stop.

She was not a school girl anymore and she would be damned before she got a crush on some stranger she had seen on a train platform and hardly spoken ten words too. She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back.

She would force it down and ignore it. No matter how almost-familiar he was.

* * *

"Morning Maka!"

Maka smiled as put her satchel on top of her desk and began to empty it, standing behind her chair. "Morning Liz. How are you?"

Liz Thompson, blonde haired beauty and Maka's fellow secretary smiled and shrugged. "Not too bad, just sad the weekend's over. I met this really nice guy in a Jazz club; can't play an instrument but got a voice like nothing else."

Maka laughed a little as she pulled her chair out to put her now empty satchel under her desk. "Sound fun."

Liz hummed. "He's taking me out this Friday too." A sly smile curled on her red lips. "You know, I'm sure he knows lots of other nice guys you would get along with, why don't we try and make it a double date?"

Maka gave her a look and she sighed.

"Alright, alright," she said, waving her hand. "No need to glare, I'm just kidding with you. But seriously—."

Whatever else Liz was about to say was cut off by the entrance of their boss, Damien Mortimer Jr, or Kid as he was affectionately called by those who knew him outside of the office.

"Good morning Elizabeth, good morning Maka," he said as he walked to his office door which sat between his two secretaries' desks.

"Good morning Mr Mortimer," they called in unison as he passed them.

Maka pulled two files from her desk and followed him a step behind.

"You have a ten o'clock meeting with Excalibur industries," she began, handing him one file as he rounded his desk after hanging up his coat and hat. "And Starling Inc should be calling you at around noon to talk about their proposed partnership." She handed him the second file as he sat.

Kid smiled warmly from his ornate chair. "Thank you Maka. Is that all for today?"

She thought for a moment. "I think the board also wanted to talk to you sometime today about the governors meeting tomorrow. I'll find the memo for it before you meet with Excalibur."

Kid pulled a face at the mention of the company, and opened one of the files. "Thank you."

Maka returned to her desk and began rooting around for the memo she was sure she had seen before the weekend. Just as she found it, a mug appeared in front of her face, forcing her to jerk back a little so she was not going cross-eyed to see it.

Following the arm that offered the mug, she met Liz's blue eyes and amused expression.

"Coffee," Liz said simply.

Maka took the mug gratefully and took a long sip. "Thanks," she said.

Liz shrugged. "Don't mention it."

After a moment of silence, during with Liz sipped at her own mug o' joe, the other blonde raised an eyebrow and said, "That's new."

Maka blinked and then followed Liz's line of sight to the pocket watch she had set on her desk next to her 'out' tray.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, I've had it for a while but never brought it in."

"Huh," Liz said, leaning back a bit. "Never pegged you as a pocket watch owner."

She shrugged.

"Can I see it?"

She picked it up and handed it to the other woman silently, took another sip from her drink, and set about reorganising her desk.

"Oh, um, this doesn't work?" Liz said, holding the open pocket watch out, confused.

"I know," Maka said. "I just liked how it looked, considering how old it is." She stood up, memo in hand.

Liz looked at the watch for a moment longer, before closing it and handing it back to her. "It _is_ pretty nice."

Maka grinned and set it back on her desk.

* * *

Despite her best efforts Maka could not get the man from the morning train station out of her head. Throughout the day he kept popping into her thoughts and distracting her from her work. Multiple times she zoned out only to be brought back to earth and a furiously curious Liz, who did not stop pestering her about it.

She wanted to know more about him, whether his features could even possible be natural, who he was, where he was from, what kind of man he was. Needless to say, by the end of the sad she felt very stupid for being hung up on someone she had barely spoken to and only ever seen that morning. But she was also very determined to settle the whole thing the next day by actually talking to him.

* * *

She was late, she was oh so very late! Her bedside clock had started to run down and she had not noticed, so she had slept in half an hour later than usual. Even with just two slices of bread for breakfast as she ran for the station, she still missed her train.

As she got there, a different train pulled away, leaving the platform significantly empty. Looking around, hoping that maybe there would be some sort of silver lining to her dark cloud of a morning, she could not find the strange, white-haired man. She felt a strange sense of over-whelming loss, which made absolutely no sense.

She sat down on an empty bench, jiggling her leg anxiously and trying to stamp down her disappointment. There would be tomorrow or the day after that or next week to talk to her strange man.

But part of her whispered that there would not be.

When the next train arrived, Maka got on it quickly, feeling her heart beat in her chest frantically. Had it been any other day she might have been alright with being a little tardy, but today was a big day, a day with a governor's meeting. She _needed_ to be there, to give Kid all that he needed and to ensure that everything ran smoothly. She forced down the thought of the strange man and replaced with the hope that this was not going to get her fired.

When she did get to work, after practically running from the station to her building, she was incredibly apologetic.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry I'm late Mr Mortimer," she said, coming up to where he was standing and talking to Liz at her desk. "I-I overslept and missed my train, and I'm really _so very sorry_ —"

He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, smile comforting and friendly. "It's alright Maka," he said soothingly. "You've never been late before, so we can't hold this one time against you. Just try not to be late again."

When he went into his office to make sure his desk was organised, Liz called across to her, "It's no big deal Maka. I'm late all the time and he's never done anything to me yet."

After an encouraging thumbs up from the other woman, Maka took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.

She could handle it. She could talk to one of the matrons at her women-only boarding, get her clock fixed, and tomorrow she _would_ talk to her man from the station.

A little voice murmured that it was too late, but she soon forgot she heard it before she could think too hard about it. She continued on with her work, distracting herself sufficiently for the morning.

* * *

Liz leaned over her desk with a large grin on her face. "Let's go get lunch, I know this great place over on the next street that does amazing food."

Maka blinked in surprise, looking up from the work she had been engrossed in to meet Liz's bright eyes. "Uh, sure?"

Within five minutes they were walking down the street.

"Hey, did I tell you my man from the weekend writes songs?" Liz asked, linking her arm with Maka's. When Maka shook her head she continued. "Yeah, with lyrics and everything. He's trying to get his own band together, which is pretty sweet if you ask me. Since he's pretty good, I'm sure he'll make quite a bit performing all over the city. Maybe he could even get me a place on stage, and I can finally leave this dull old job—no offense to you though," she added quickly. "Or Kid for that matter. You both make it pretty interesting sometimes. Could just do without all the paperwork."

Unintentionally, Maka began to zone out her co-worker, focusing on the low ringing in her ears, like a firework had gone off right beside her. She kept thinking of the man at the station, despite the good job she had done at blocking him out during the morning.

She had had a weird dream about him the previous night, which had been hard to rouse herself from. She could not quite remember what had happened in the dream, but she was _sure_ he had been in it. But she had known his name, which was impossible. Frustratingly, she could not remember the name she gave him in her dream either.

She was yanked from her thoughts by Liz tugging on her arm, leaving her feeling disorientated.

"Oh my god, I think there's been an auto accident," Liz gasped, pointing down the street. "Shit, do you think someone's been hit?"

There was a commotion further down the street, and Maka could see several cars pulled up to the side walk with doors let wide open as people swarmed to the scene, which she could not quite see. It also sounded liked two people—women—were screaming. Distantly she heard someone yell for an ambulance to be called.

Liz tugged on her arm again. "Let's get a closer look!"

She started to pull her towards the accident, but Maka's head was beginning to spin. Her knees wobbled from under her and the ringing in her ears became a full out roar, blocking every other noise out. She grabbed onto Liz's arm and her knees gave out completely, sending her down.

Blackness began to encroach on her vision, and though she was sure Liz was leaning over her and calling her name, she could barely hear it.

With a sigh, she slipped into the blackness.

* * *

When Maka opened her eyes, she was standing. Dizziness washed over her for a moment and her vision darkened for a moment, like she had stood up too quickly after lying down, and she stumbled, reaching out a hand to tray and grab something to hold her up. It passed though, and she remained standing.

She shook her head and looked around blinking.

The room she was in was large and dusty, with a ceiling that sloped on both sides and no windows. The room was lit, but there was not definite light source. In the middle of the room stood two mannequins, one with clothes on and the other standing bare, next to a full-length mirror, and a folding room divider. And next to the mannequins, stood a man.

This man was strange though. He wore a block suit with a white shirt, looking like a butler from Victorian England, which both was absurd and rang a familiar bell. But he did not have a face.

Well, no, that was not quite right. He _did_ have a face, but it was too hard to focus on what type of face he had, staring at it for too long made her ears buzz and her head hurt.

"Welcome back Miss Albarn," the man in the suit said, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was smooth and neutral, and it brought memories flooding back.

She was not from the 1950s where she had just been living, nor was she a secretary. She was from the twenty-first century and had been living a normal, if stressful, college life, juggling studying and a part-time job to keep herself fed.

Maka looked at her hand, which was suddenly holding the pocket watch from before—the pocket watch her father had given her to try and buy himself back into her good graces. It had taken her three days after receiving the present to open the gift and find the watch, which spoke for how much she cared for the man.

She remembered sitting on her couch and taking a closer look at the watch, turning it over in her hands and opening it—and then she was here, in this room for the first time. Being told what her mission was and why she was here.

Her mission, in short, was to find her soul mate, who would have the pocket watch that formed a pair with hers. But the test had been set up by a witch to test the devotion of two people who had scorned her, and so could not be easy.

She had to chase the other watch owner through time, as all the previous watch owners all the way back to the originals in the mid nineteenth century had to. But she only had forty-eight hours in each time period, and no memory of who—or where—she had been originally or what her quest was.

It was cruel and it was slowly driving her mad. She had already been in at least twenty different time periods and was no closer to going home than she had at the start.

"He was in that car accident, wasn't he?" she said as she walked towards the man in the suit and the mannequins. "And died? The other watch owner?"

The man in the suit nodded. "That is correct."

She sighed and moved the divider so the man in the suit could not see her change. The pocket watch disappeared from her hand as she began to undress. "We didn't get to speak this time," she said, though she knew it was unnecessary. The faceless man was in her head, he knew what had happened.

The man at the station had been the other watch owner. The white hair and red eyes gave him away, it was always present in every life she had lived. And as always, she had been drawn to him, pulled by a feeling in her soul that she _had_ to talk to him, had to know him. But every time she had met him so far, she had not been able to really speak to him, to find a way to bring the pocket watch into their conversation.

 _Soul_ , she thought, almost longingly. The name he had borne in the times she had been able to speak to him. His face hovered in the back of her mind, and she tried to squash it down.

She did not need a soul mate, or a true love, or whatever it was this _Soul_ was meant to be. She would find him, she would show him the watch, and she would go home and that would be the end of it.

Once she was naked and her clothes from the fifties were arranged on the first mannequin, she turned to the second and called out, "So, where am I going next?"

The ratty looking dress with multiple patches that sat before gave her a hint, but she hoped it was not what she was thinking. She could so do without it.

"You are going to the thirteenth century next, in southern France," the man in the suit answered.

Maka vaguely thought that at least it was going to be warm, but as she pulled on the brown coloured dress from the mannequin, she recoiled at the smell of manure, sweat, and probably preventable diseases.

"I don't think I'm going to enjoy this," she muttered, and observed herself in the full-length mirror. After a deep breath, she called, "I'm ready!"

"Remember," the man in the suit said, "You have forty-eight hours to find the other watch owner. If you find them and you can show each other your watches, you can return to your born time period. If not, we will reset and try again in a new time. Good luck."

The room vanished into smoke and she fell into black.


	2. Chapter 2

Maka jerked upright, breathing hard. Even as she blinked away the sleepy haze from her eyes, her dream slipped from her fingers and all she could remember aside from the pressing sense of urgency, was a voice whispering about time.

Soon though, even the voice slipped away, and she fell back onto her mat to catch her breath, but something dug into her back. Grunting, she arched her back to lift her torso off the mat beneath her and pushed her hand underneath her back to find what was bothering her.

Her hand clasped around something hard, circular and thick, and when she pulled it out from under herself, she was amazed.

It was shiny, made of metal, though dull in some patches. She traced the pattern on the front with the tips of her fingers, trying to think of where she had found it. Then she remembered, as the cobwebs of sleep finally cleared from her mind, that she had found it while digging with her family to sow new seeds for the new year. She had cleaned it and kept it safe, for while she shared everything else with her siblings, she just wanted this _one thing_ for herself.

Her sister murmured beside her and Maka quickly tucked the pendant—for surely that was what it was, it even had a loop at the top for the string to go through—away in her skirts and pushed herself back upright.

"Time to wake up Tsugumi," she said softly, but cheerfully, dream all but forgotten. She shook her younger sister's shoulder. "Before Mama and Papa come and wake us." Tsugumi whined. "Or they'll be cruel and send Black*Star."

Tsugumi whined louder but pushed herself up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and yawning. "He's a jerk when he wakes me up. He jumps on me even when I tell him I'm getting up." She pouted. "He's so mean to me on _purpose_."

Maka smiled and patted her on the head. "But he wouldn't have to do that if you just got up when you were asked," she said sweetly.

Maka pushed herself up off the ground and brushed herself off before holding a hand out to help her sister up.

"Let's go eat," she said. "Before Mama lets the porridge go cold, or all to Black*Star."

* * *

Out in the fields with her family (Mama, Papa, two sisters and a brother), Maka felt the sun pound down on her. When she had been younger, working in her bent position had played hell with her back, but now that she was nearing adult hood (and marrying age as her mother never let her forget), she had learned to ignore and deal with it pretty well.

She remained focused on her task as the sun moved from the eastern horizon up to the middle of the sky, not looking up from her work until her youngest sister, Meme, called to her.

"Isn't that the Lord and his sons? I thought they both had white hair?"

Maka stretched upright and let her back crack satisfyingly. She looked in the direction Meme was pointing and sure enough there was the Lord Evans that owned their land (and technically their farm, their food and their lives) riding just on the other side of the low wall that marked their farm. His horse was a shining white, and he sat high and mighty in the saddle.

Behind him were two other men who were also on horse-back, his two sons as Meme had said. The eldest and the heir to the land rode directly behind his father, on a black stallion whose coat gleamed in the noon sun. He sat as tall as his father did, shoulders back and chin high.

And behind him came his younger brother—who in truth could be barely more than a boy—on a brown horse, cutting quite a different figure. The youngest son was slouched on his horse, almost drooping under the sun.

But the main difference between the three horsemen were their hair colours. While Lord Evans and his heir had fine dark hair, the younger son had pale blonde hair. In the bright sunlight, it looked as white as his father's horse.

"Don't stare so openly Meme," Maka hissed after a moment's glance at the nobles. "We'll get in trouble. And don't point!"

Meme grumbled and went back to work but Maka stayed upright a moment longer to stare at the younger son. She watched his father turn and back something at him, which made him sit upright and spur his horse to keep pace with his brother's. As she watched, she tucked her hand into one of her pockets to clutch at her metal pendant thing, and felt a small connection to him.

She might have even stared a little longer and dared her sister's whining at her hypocrisy, but the younger son turned his head in her direction suddenly and she bowed down to keep working, though not quite quickly enough to escape making eye contact.

Much later, in the evening, when she was tending to the plough horse, she thought about the younger son. It was impossible, but when their eyes had met, she had had the distinct feeling that she had looked into his eyes before. Even though that was closest she had ever been to him, and she could not have seen it from so far away, she knew his eyes were as red as fine wine, and even more intense.

Even as she thought about intense red eyes partially hidden under dishevelled pale hair, she felt a shiver travel down her spine.

Maybe there was a reason the Lord Evans kept his son mostly out of the eyes of the general population, aside from embarrassment and to avoid gossip.

She crossed herself and took a steadying breath. It did not help. Her feeling was far too human for the God above to help her.

* * *

The next evening, instead of falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, Maka found herself unable to lie still. The thought of the younger son and the intense red gaze she was sure he had still rattled in her mind and was driving her crazy, and for the second night in a row.

She tried to lay on her side and focus on the sound of her sister's even breaths as she traced the pattern on the front of her metal pendant. Maka tried to get her breathing to match Tsugumi's but her heart would not be calm down and neither would her soul.

As time passed slowly, she felt herself become even tenser than she had started out. It was like she was waiting for _something_ to happen, even if she did not know that what _something_ was.

Eventually, she grew sick of just lying there, and slowly got to her feet so as not to disturb her sister, intending to take a quick walk to tire herself out. Tsugumi snuffled a little and she froze. However, her sister merely rolled over and curled up, continuing to breathe quietly. Maka let out a quiet sight of relief.

She grabbed her metal pendent and tucked it into her pocket safely, and made her way out of the room. Once she left the house silently, she put her hand into her pocket to clutch at her metal pendent. Even just holding it as she walked made her feel a little better, a little more at ease. Like it was a talisman to guard her against evil things.

She walked in the direction of the woods that bordered her family's farm and was often used by Lord Evans for his hunting parties. It was a fair distance from her family's home, so it would probably be enough to walk there and back, even if she did not enter it.

A brisk pace carried her to the wood's edge quickly enough, leaving her to stare into its darkness and wonder why her soul would not be still enough for her to rest. She looked over her shoulder, back towards her home and bit her lip.

She did not feel even the slightest bit tired, and did not want to go back yet. But that left actually going _into_ the woods, and all sorts of dangers could be there.

Maka sucked in a deep breath at that thought and squared her shoulders, tilting her chin back and holding her head high. She was no coward, she had held her own against her older brother since they were children even though he had always been bigger than her, had fought off men who had tried to steal from her family and forced them to run off limping, had worked the land since she could walk. She was strong and she was capable. She could handle a little wood.

With that she marched through the trees, keeping her senses on high alert, hoping that focusing on keeping herself safe would both keep her mind off her unknown dread, and tire herself out so she could go home and sleep.

As she walked, she felt herself almost compelled to walk in a certain direction. In her pocket, her hand clenched tighter around her pendent to draw more courage from it.

As she walked, her heart beat increased, as did her anxiety.

A twig snapped behind her and she jumped wildly, whirling around and raising her fists in preparation for defending herself, just about biting back a scream and nearly flinging her pendent out of her pocket.

When she turned, she saw someone standing a little bit behind her, obscured in the darkness so she could only see their outline and a single defining feature standing out in the blackness.

White hair.

 _Oh God, it was the Lord's younger son._ He could do anything to her and she could not fight back without putting her family's lives and livelihood in jeopardy. Her mouth dried as she desperately wished she had never come into the forest, that she had just stayed home and said her prayers again. She would fight for her life and her virtue if it came to it, and if it lead to her family being evicted then she would accept the consequences, but she did not want it to come to that.

However, the boy—who a little further up close did in fact look more like a man—looked just as alarmed as she felt, taking a single step back. Moonlight peeked through the leaves above them and reflected off his wide, red eyes.

"I, uh, I'm sorry!" he blurted. "I didn't mean to disturb you." He took another step back and his face became shadowed again. "Or frighten you," he added. "Sorry."

Maka was silent for a long moment, staring at him in shock. Stiffly she put her fists down, though she still kept her hands clenched tightly. "No need to apologise, my lord," she said. After a brief moment of thought, she curtsied too.

He made a strange strangled sound in his throat. "You-you don't have to call me that." He paused. "My name is Soul."

Her mouth flapped like a fish for a moment. "It would be wrong to call you—," she started, but was quickly interrupted.

"I don't care about the right and wrong of social etiquette to honest." He took what sounded like a shuddering breath and a step towards her so the moonlight hit his face again. She could see an uneasy frown twist his lips. "Nobody ever deigns to call me by my name anymore, so please, just _Soul_."

"Soul," she echoed, testing it. It felt… _familiar_ and _nice_. After a beat of silence she said, "My name is Maka."

He blinked at her, then gaped a little before a small smile formed on his face. He repeated her name in the same way she had done for his. "It's nice to meet you."

A slightly incredulous smile tugged at her lips as she replied, "Same to you."

They fell into awkward silence, as Soul rubbed the back of his neck and Maka shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Soooo," he said eventually. "What brings you to the woods at this time of night?"

She licked her lips and thought about lying. "I couldn't sleep," she said truthfully in the end. "I thought a walk would help."

He hummed and nodded and rocked on the balls of his feet. "Same here. The house can be…confining."

She hummed in return though she could not say she understood the feeling. His family home was so much larger than hers, and she had never thought of her own family home as 'confining'.

After some more silence, Soul said, "Would you mind if I walked with you for a little? I'll keep my distance, I just—I'd like the company, I guess."

Maka's hands had begun to relax but they clenched up again at his request. He did not seem very threatening, and he had not tried anything so far, so she supposed he could be trusted, at least a little. And though he did not seem to want to acknowledge it, he was still one of Lord Evans' sons. It would be best to do as he asked.

"If you wish," she replied coolly. She turned on her heel slowly and began to walk, pace slow enough for him to follow.

He caught up to her and kept in stride with her, though he did keep his word and stayed a little distance away from her. They walked in silence for a while and as they did, Maka tried to rack her mind for an excuse to leave without being rude or putting herself at risk; or at least something to say to break the empty silence.

She stuffed one hand back into her pocket to grab her metal pendent. Feeling it in her hand brought back the strange sense of comfort, but also a homesickness she could not understand. For a brief moment she thought about showing it to Soul, but dismissed it as stupid. It would probably be met with confusion and scorn.

But even as she tried to purge the thought from her head, it grew. The compulsion to show him her object grew, to see if he knew what it was with his learning, to see if he would accept it where her brother had laughed at her.

Just as she opened her mouth and began to pull her hand out of her pocket, holding her pendent, someone yelled out not too far away from them.

" _SOUL!_ Soul, where are you!?"

The two of then froze and looked each other, panic written on both of their faces.

The voice called out again, this time joined by more, echoing, still calling out to find the wayward son of the Lord manor.

Maka stayed looking at Soul for one more moment, swayed by the almost devastated look in his eyes. He did not want her to go, did not want to be alone, she could see it. But the sound of men shouting coming closer made a shameful fear spread down her spine, and she bolted, running away from Soul and those who were looking for him, towards home and safety.

A feeling she could only describe as _regret_ settled into her stomach as she ran, growing stronger as she put more distance between herself and the poor, lost soul of Lord Evans' youngest son.

She ran faster once she left the woods, having no desire to be caught out in the open. She made it home though, fortunately, without any mishap, and shut the door quietly behind her. She took a moment to stand in the main room and catch her breath, willing her mind to stop racing and her heart to stop galloping loudly.

She felt flushed and sweaty, and her hands started shaking slightly from the aftermath of her flight. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take long deep breaths, slowly but surely feeling her body relax.

Silently she crept back into her room and lay down on the mat next to her sister. Exhaustion weighed her eyes and down and she tried her best to sleep, but her mind would not let her.

She curled up, cradling the pendent in her hands carefully. Finally, she became so exhausted that she slipped into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Maka opened her eyes and she was in a large empty room with a man who did not seem to have a face.

For a moment she was deathly afraid that she had died and this was hell, but when the man without a face spoke her name, her memories returned and her frustration built.

"I was so close!" she yelled. "I nearly—! Ugh!"

The faceless suit man watched on silently as she tugged at her hair and screeched through clenched teeth. She stomped her foot in fury and desperately wanted to hit something. She just wanted this whole thing to be over, she didn't want a soulmate, had _never_ wanted a soulmate, love like that could never exist!

Maka scrunched her eyes closed and tangled her fingers in her hair close to her scalp, trying to ground herself and focus on something else than her fury. Losing her temper would not do much, would not change her situation. It would only waste time.

Forcing herself to take several deep breaths, she forced her anger back down, or at least tried to.

When she felt at least a little calmer, she straightened her back and pulled her hands from her hair. She strode towards the faceless man and the mannequins beside him.

The clothes on the mannequin looked fairly modern, but still different from the clothes she was used to from her own time.

She turned to the faceless man with a raised brow, curiosity bubbling in her stomach despite her still simmering anger. "Where- _when_ am I going next?"

He smiled a little, or at least she thought he did, it was hard to tell when she could not look at his face for too long. "Somewhere different. A little closer to home."

She scowled and moved the room divider to block him and to allow herself to change. She had was in no mood for any humour the faceless man was developing.

She stopped though when he continued, "The future. Specifically, the twenty-second century in Australia."

She blinked and a little smile curled at her lips. "Huh," she said. "Cool."


	3. Chapter 3

Maka grumbled as she sat in her car, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Uptown Sydney traffic was hell on a Monday morning. Her mood was not helped by her dull headache—the result of a weird dream that made her lurch awake, fall out of bed, and knock her head on her bedside table—or the monotone voice of the news reader coming out of her car's radio.

Eventually she switched it off, preferring the silence, or at least the relative silence of the running car surrounds by hundreds of other running cars.

She moved forward to a traffic light just as it turned red, and sighed deeply. Typical.

As she waited for the lights to change again, she glanced over to her passenger seat. Stacked on it were the paperwork files she had finished over the weekend and the day's main assignment. Why her unit still insisted on keeping a paper copy along with an electrical one she would never understand.

And on top of the pile sat her pocket watch.

She reached over and grabbed, and after checking that the lights were still red, she opened it to and read the inscription inside. She wondered who Lillian was, what kind of life they had led, why there was a pocket watch made for them, and what sort of the journey the watch had taken to get to her mother's hands, and so to her own.

Her gut twisted uneasily at that thought though, and something in the back of her mind rang about time and a mission, but she shook it from her head. Just a remnant from her dream, though she could barely remember anything about it aside from the idea that she had to move quickly.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the lights begin to change and gently tossed the watch back onto the passenger seat, readying for the green light to let her go.

As she got closer to her station, Maka forced her pocket watch and her dream to the back of her mind so she could focus on her assignment.

As part of Sydney's main police force, and as one of the best on said police force, she had been assigned to the protection detail of a renowned Jazz musician. Though it seemed tedious and trivial, and far below her skill set, her boss had told her it would look good and help her get promoted.

And that was what she wanted. To be promoted. To be as good as her mother. To make her proud.

From his personality file at least, pianist Soul 'Eater' Evans seemed a pretty decent guy, not at all the diva his elder brother was (also a famous musician). Previous details had noted his quietness which could almost be called shyness, and a willingness to follow instructions with a good amount of common sense.

He seemed the ideal charge, even if his wealth and upper class upbringing had given him the privilege of money few could boast.

When she walked into her station after parking her car (and slipping the pocket watch into her pocket and paper work under her arm), and as she was about to go to the conference room with the rest of the group assigned baby-sitting to go over their strategy and paperwork before their charge arrived at noon, she was stopped by her boss.

"Miss Albarn," Chief Superintendent Sid Barrett said lowly. "Come into my office for a second."

She raised an eyebrow in surprise, but nodded and followed him. Once the door was shut behind them and they were both seated, she asked, "Am I in trouble, Sir?"

Sid laughed a little and shook his head. "No, no, Albarn, not at all. I just needed to tell you something and I thought it would be best to do it privately." He leaned forward over his desk and sighed. "You've been reassigned. You're back on beat with Blake."

Maka squinted and paused for a moment before speaking. "Can I ask why Sir?"

Sid grumbled and rubbed his face tiredly. "Mr Evans' father has expressed a desire to only have _men_ on his son's protection detail. Apparently he has concerns about conflicts of interest with female officers, as well as whether they'd be able to deter some of his son's more… _enthusiastic_ fans."

Maka glared down at the desk and clenched her hands in her lap. There were many choice words she wanted to call Mr Evans Senior in that moment. Instead she said, "Surely it's not legal for them to discriminate like that. It's complete bullshit anyway, like only _women_ could have _conflicts of interest_."

Sid nodded and sat back in his chair, looking tired despite it only being Monday morning. "I'll be honest with you Maka, that's the kind of leader I am. Old Mr Evans is from lots of old money, and holds quite a lot of sway with the political scene in America. Apparently pressure has come from the American ambassador for things to go their way, and there are still people up top who prefer money to equality."

Maka fumed in her seat. "You'd think, after all this time—." She cut herself off before she could say anything else.

Sid nodded again. "You'd think that, yes. But right now there's nothing we can do about it. Let's just look on the bright side: you won't have to baby-sit, and you won't have to keep long hours standing in one spot checking for fangirls. We'll get this sorted out though. I don't like this sort of nepotism affecting my station." He waved a hand and hunkered over some paperwork. "You're dismissed now Albarn."

Maka rose from her seat after thanking him, and left, cursing the Evans family in her head.

* * *

Black chortled when he heard about it as they gathered their gear to head out on patrol once Maka had handed over her paperwork to her replacement and signed the necessary forms.

"Damn," he said. "So all it would take for me to get rid of you is pay the top brass shit loads of money and be a sexist dick? Pfft, if I'd know that before, I'd have saved all my wages and got you off my ass long ago."

Maka threw her empty paper coffee cup at his face and scowled. "Shut up Blake, this is serious."

He huffed. "Yeah, yeah. But like you said the old man said, we can't do anything about it now, so let's just do what we're supposed to do. Catch criminals and scare off little shits who think they're bigger than the great god Blake!"

She chuffed and followed him as they walked out to their car. "I can never tell what's bigger. This country, or you ego."

"Whatever pigtails, let's just go fuck shit up—," she glared and he continued hurriedly "—legally of course! Gotta lead my people by example."

As they slid into their car and buckled up, Blake caught her slipping her pocket watch out of her pocket.

He glanced at her, but said nothing. He had known her since they were children, when her parents had worked with his, before her home life fell apart. Before her mother left to find herself and her father became bogged down in work and women.

He knew what the watch meant to her.

She stroked the front with her thumb, breathed deeply, and put it back in her pocket. She would be strong. She would make her mother proud.

* * *

Maka sighed as she fell back into her worn couch. The morning she had been un-assigned to Soul Evans, a triple homicide in progress had been called in and they'd spent the next twenty-four hours working non-stop to both chase the bastard that did it, and then be de-briefed on their first response to the scene and the chase. Then today had been filled with paperwork about the whole ordeal and how she had managed to nearly wreck her car.

So much for not 'keeping long hours'.

She took a long sip from her wine glass and flicked through hologram channels. She cycled through to the news and paused when she saw the headline about one Jazz pianist. She grimaced a little, but did not change the channel.

The reporters were talking about what a success his first night had been, and how sharp he had looked in his designer suit, as well as who had been there, and who they had been with. It all seemed incredibly trivial and unimportant compared to the work she had been dealing with over the past forty-eight hours. It had involved a kiddy too.

A small clip played of Evans playing one of his pieces, and another of him getting into his limo after the concert, giving a small smile and wave to his fans and the media before shutting himself behind tinted windows.

She rewound the holo to play the music clip again, and felt herself strangely moved. Music had never been her thing, something she had never quite understood. Perhaps it would be worth looking for his album online and giving it a listen. Maybe all his music had the power to move her. Maybe she was just having a bad day.

She let the music play again before letting the programme continue, and then snorted loudly when a close-up of Soul Evans appeared on screen.

White hair? Red eyes? Sharp teeth? He was so pretentious. She wondered how much it had cost for him to get it done, and how much of his own money had actually paid for it.

But, while she was still angry about the whole affair with his father and the bribery and the bigotry, she felt a sense of longing and loss settle into her heart, like she had missed out on something great. She paused the holo and stared at his face intently. She wondered what it would be like to actually stare into those red eyes of his, and felt a sudden sense of déjà vu.

However, she un-paused the holo and let the news go on, pushing down those feelings and draining her glass. She did not miss anything, not really. He was a pretentious musician used to getting his own way because of his money and familial status. Nothing more, nothing less.

She ignored the little whisper in the back of head that told her she was being unkind, that she really _had_ missed something, and refilled her glass.

It was stupid to get drunk on a week-day, but she had been given the next morning off to recalibrate after the previous day's work. She deserved a little numbness.

The pocket watch from her mother was cradled on her lap, one of the few things she had from her. That, and the damned wedding invitation that was sitting on her coffee table.

It had arrived only that morning, announcing that her mother was to be remarried. To a man she had never met. To a man her mother had never mentioned in any of her scant letters or postcards.

She tried to convince herself that any sadness or longing she felt was because of that, because her mother had left her behind and built a new life for herself. A life she was not wanted in. Apparently all she did to try and make her mother proud was for naught.

She drained her glass again and blinked back the stinging in her eyes.

She passed out a glass later, pocket watch clasped tightly in her hands, damning everything to hell—mothers and musicians alike—as she fell asleep.

* * *

Maka nearly fell over when she appeared in a large room that was nearly empty and not clearly lit, alcohol still clouding her brain. But that haze quickly vanished as the faceless man welcomed her back and her memories returned.

She ran a hand through her hair, trying not to connect the mother she had had in the future to the one she had in her own time. The similarities were too great, and it made her heart hurt. Tears pricked at her eyes again and she rubbed her eyes to will them away.

"I hope the other watch owner isn't as gross as his father," she said hollowly as she made her way towards the faceless man and the mannequins. Thoughts of her mother were swirling too fast for her to really feel what she was saying. "Would suck to have a soulmate that…."

She trailed off when she saw the new clothes on the mannequin. The kimono draped over it was beautiful, sparkling a little in the illogical light.

She turned to face the faceless man in the suit. "What…?"

She could have sworn he was smiling again, even if it was still nearly impossible to tell. "Your next destination is early sixteenth century Japan."


	4. Chapter 4

Maka was awoken by the sensation of someone touching her arm, and she jerked upright, yanking herself away from whoever was trying to touch her. Her dream still clouded her mind, and for a moment all she could think of was that she had to hurry, hurry, _hurry_.

One of her handmaidens, Tsugumi, jerked back as well, alarmed. "My-my Lady, I'm so sorry, I did not mean to startle you."

Maka blinked at her for a moment, and then let her shoulders drop as she took a deep breath. "Do not apologise, you are not at fault. I had a strange dream, that's all." But even as she said it, she forgot what it was about.

Tsugumi inched a little closer. "Are you alright, my Lady? Do you want us to fetch a doctor?"

"No, no, I'm fine, thank you," she replied, shaking her head. She smiled a little and added, "Good morning, by the way."

Her handmaidens quickly returned the greeting with a little bow, with Tsugumi bowing the lowest. They helped her up, and then began to bustle about to help her dress.

"My Lady," the youngest of the three, Meme, said suddenly, as Tsugumi tied the strings of her third shirt. "What is this?"

Maka turned and looked at what Meme had clasped in her hand. It was silver and round, with an intricate design on its face.

She stared at it in surprise, mind totally blank for any explanation, face burning slightly under the gazes of her handmaidens, who had stopped moving entirely to stare at both her and the strange object.

The memory rushed back and she pinked shamefully at having forgotten it. "It is a gift from my father, from when he went to one of the port cities for Lord Death. It's from the far west," she explained. "It's one of their clocks, though it doesn't work anymore, since it was damaged on the way here. He gave it to me before he over-powered Lord Mosquito."

"O-oh, apologies, my Lady," Meme stammered, placing the gift on a side table and bowing low.

Maka smiled slightly and returned to being dressed, ignoring the little hiss of "how could you forget that Meme, that's always been with our Lady" from Tsugumi.

Before she left her room to join her father for breakfast, she snatched up the pocket clock and hid it amongst her sleeves. She knew she always left it in her room normally, but for some reason she felt that she needed to have it with her today. Urgency flooded through her at the thought of leaving it, and calmness was regained once it was in her hands.

Her handmaidens saw, but did not question her. They never questioned her. She would never get used to being a daimyo's daughter.

* * *

Breakfast with her father was a quiet affair, as it had been since he had usurped the Mosquito family and taken control of their lands and forces to further Lord Death and his clan's power. The responsibility was a noticeable burden to her father; she saw it both in his stooped shoulders and greying hair, and in the company he sought in the evening to distract him.

That his number of women had driven away her mother before his rise in favour with Lord Death had been a point of conflict between Maka and her father for a long time. It stretched the silence between them to painful lengths.

She felt his gift hidden between the folds of her kimono, where she had slipped it from her sleeve when she had taken her seat.

Once their breakfast had been eaten, her father left to tend to his duties, and Maka waited till he left before he rose to tend to her own—to play nice with the women of the local commanders and look pretty—the pocket clock tucked back up her sleeve to give her comfort.

As she left the room, her handmaidens walking behind her, she caught sight of a young man with long, soft, white hair standing to the side. She caught his eye and felt her heart speed up, though she did her best to tamp down her blush and remain neutral faced.

She nodded her head in acknowledgment of him, and he turned and bowed low to her, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"Lady Albarn," he murmured.

"Evans," she said gently. "Good morning sir."

Before he could answer, she walked on, handmaidens behind her, and with him undoubtedly following in the shadows.

Soul Evans had come to her family as a young boy, though three years older than herself, when her father was gaining favour with Lord Death and looked set to become one of his most prized subordinates. He brought a message with him from his father, an influential man who had thus far remained neutral in the land wars. Lord Evans offered his second son as a warrior for the Albarn family, to fight for honour and glory in their name, and to put in a good word for them to Lord Death.

Soul had been trained in the art of the samurai and when Maka had turned fourteen, and her father's power becoming apparent, he was made her body guard. She had disliked him at first, disliked the very idea that she needed him to protect her—she had done a fairly good job of keeping herself alive till then, given how many enemies her father had a habit of making, even when not under the order of Lord Death.

But then Soul had done something unexpected. He had pledged his allegiance and blade to _her_ and _her alone_. She was his master and there was nothing he would not do to keep her safe, entirely willing to lay down his own life for her.

At the time it had shocked everyone at the time (though her father had to admit he was pleased the youth had taken his role so seriously, though Soul's dedication had spurned him to talk to her about appropriate matches and marriages, though he had very little room to talk about _appropriateness_ ), but many years later, it now worried her.

That he would sacrifice himself for her, willingly and without thought, was not doubted, for he had proved himself in the aftermath of Mosquito's loss of power, when a snake from the Gorgon family had sent someone for revenge. He had taken a hit for her without blinking and had barely survived, having lost lots of blood and gained a vicious scar across his chest.

He was as loyal as any man could ever be to his master. But that was entirely the problem.

* * *

His lips were soft against the back of her hand, and she did her best not to shiver. Soul's eyes were a deep red as they stared up into hers reverently, with an intensity that made a thrill go down her spine.

All she could think of was that she was glad she had fulfilled her duties for the day in the morning, leaving her afternoon mostly free for herself.

"Maka," he murmured, stroking her palm with his thumb, bringing her back to herself, at least a little.

"I'm trying to read," she breathed, unable to look away from his gaze, ignoring the scroll in her lap.

His lips tilted up to reveal his jagged teeth in a teasing smile. "Only trying?"

She felt her cheeks pink and she huffed, while he laughed lowly. He kissed her knuckles, cradling her hand in both of his and she felt her stomach drop and twist warmly.

She wanted him to kiss her properly. She wanted him to take her into his arms and hold her. She wanted to hold him in return, hold him and never let go. But…

She glanced at the open windows and the closed door she knew at least one of her handmaidens was waiting behind, to give her privacy and to act as look out. It was too open, it was not safe, anyone could discover them and then everything would be over.

But when she looked back at him, watching her with an adoration she could not fathom, she desperately wanted to forget it all: her father, their positions, the whole world!

"Soul," she whispered and cupped his cheek with her free hand. She wanted to lean forward and press her lips to his, to pull him on top of her, to push him back and climb on top of him, to feel every part of his being. She wanted—

Tsugumi coughed outside the door and Soul pulled back so he was sitting against the wall, rearranging his features into what could only be described as calm and watchful. Maka turned her attention back to her reading and silently thanked her pale make-up for hiding her heated face. The places her lips had touched her hand burned her.

Her handmaiden walked in with a tray laden with a teas set, followed shortly by Meme who brought a table over to rest the tray. As Tsugumi set her load down, Maka could see her father walk by the door behind her. He saw her looking and smiled slightly, but she looked away, putting on a show of indifference. She thought she heard him sigh as he walked on, but she could not be sure.

Tsugumi and Meme remained with her until evening dinner, serving and watching her read. It was an unusual past time for a lady of her status, she knew, but she would not be ignorant.

Soul stayed seated against the wall, and she could feel his eyes on her, as always.

* * *

The next morning, at breakfast, with Maka once again hiding the pocket clock amongst the folds of her kimono as she loathed to part with it, her father broke their habit of silence with: "There is someone I wish for you to meet, Maka."

She blinked for a moment in surprise, before setting her rice bowl and chopsticks. "Who?"

She was even more surprised when her father turned so he could face her and not his table.

"You know that Lord Death has a son, yes?" he asked.

She felt her chest clench painfully as she knew what he must be thinking. "Yes, you have mentioned him many times," she said, trying to remain calm and dignified, even as she felt her heart begin to shatter.

He squirmed a little as he sat there and it made her feel a little better, but then he steeled himself. "Lord Death thinks it would be a good idea if you two met and… _got along_ , you understand."

"Papa—"

He held up a hand and she bit her tongue in order to stop her words from spilling out of her mouth as they rose thick and fast in her throat.

He swallowed and continued, "He—and I—think it would be good for our families and for our cause if you two married. But I give you the same choice Lord Death will give his son. You can meet and see for yourselves if you are matched."

She turned her head away so could gaze at the door, where she knew Soul was standing outside, presumably able to hear all that was being said. Her father had said she had a choice, but she knew that in reality, she did not really.

Family came first, above all else.

"I assume you will invite them here," she said softly, hands clenching in her lap, hard enough for her nails to dig into her palms.

Her father was quiet for a moment before he answered, "Yes. I will send the invitation today."

She sucked in a deep breath. "Then I suppose we will see if the young Lord Death and I are compatible." Though that hardly mattered. They _had_ to be compatible.

She saw her father relax from the corner of her eyes as he turned back to his food.

"Indeed we will," he murmured before continuing to eat in silence.

Maka however had lost her appetite. Her hand found the gift he had given her amongst her kimono and brushed her thumb over its design, hoping to draw comfort from it.

 _Family came first_.

* * *

Soul kissed her hard, arms tight around her waist as she sat in his lap. His tongue was hot against hers and shivers ran freely down her spine as he bit her bottom lip gently. She breathed his name into his mouth and he clutched at her harder. Her fingers tangled in his long, white hair and tugged slightly; she felt his body react under hers as he hummed approval.

Maka pulled away from his kiss to trail her mouth down his jaw and neck, shivering each time he breathed into her ear. His hands roamed over her bottom, pulling her closer to his heat and hardness.

Then, his grip changed as he cradled her against him and began to lower them both to her mat, laying her down with him hovering over her. He stared at her for a moment before leaning down to kiss her tenderly, leaving her light-headed and with a fluttering heart.

"Maka," he whispered, pressing his weight against her and sending warmth radiating through her.

She stroked his face and brushed her fingers through his hair. "I love you," she murmured.

He nuzzled into her neck and said into her ear, "I love you too. Always and forever."

Her heart ached at his declaration, knowing that they could never truly have each-other's love when their stations were so different. If he had been born a first son and stayed away from the blade, they might have had a chance. But with their situation as it was, nothing could be done. Her father would kill him if he was found with her like this.

Thoughts of her father brought her to think of his gift, the pocket clock. It was set beside her mat, as she had become increasingly attached to it, and now she had the sudden urge to show it to him.

It was foolish and irrational, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to show it to him. The urge welled up in unexpectedly, and she was reminded of the dream she had had two nights before, the one of urgency and time.

"Soul," she breathed as he kissed down her neck and towards her chest, softly and without leaving a mark.

Something in her voice must have worried him, because he looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

She stroked his face again and pulled him back up so she could kiss him chastely. "There's something I—"

He hushed her quickly and kissed her. "Don't, Maka," he murmured, pressing little kisses all over her face. "Not now. Please."

She scrunched up her face in confusion. "What?"

He sighed and pressed his face into her neck again, running his hands up and down her sides as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. "I know, I heard you and your father talking about it. Lord Death's son."

Her heart stuttered and her earlier aching returned with a vengeance. She pressed her face into his hair and closed her eyes, to memorize his warmth and smell as much as possible. She was about to tell him that was not what she had been going to talk about, but he spoke first.

"Even if you marry him, even if you…you stop loving me, even if we are separated, I will never stop loving you." He pulled back and brushed her hair from her eyes. His gaze was full of adoration and longing, and he took a shaky breath before he continued, "I will follow you wherever you go if you'll let me, even into death. You own my blade, body, and soul; and even if I can't hold you, I never wish to be parted from you."

Her eyes stung with tears as her heart broke for him. All thought of the stupid little pocket clock was gone. Instead all she could think about was the man above her, ready to worship and protect her no matter what the cost.

She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the hard ridge of the scar he had received from the assassin sent by the Gorgons. His mark of honour and sacrifice and dedication.

"I know," she whispered, as a tear fell, though he quickly wiped it away with his thumb. "But I will _never_ stop loving you either."

He swooped down to kiss her, and soon their lips tasted salty with their tears but they did not let go of each other. Instead they shed their last remaining clothes and held onto each other tightly, moving as one and becoming one.

And though she knew he would not, _could_ not be there when she woke up, for fear of what her father would do, she was glad to fall asleep in his arms, safe in her love of him for at least one more night.

* * *

Maka was awoken by her materialisation in a large room with a faceless man. For a long moment she was petrified and yelled out for her Soul to help her. But when the faceless man welcomed her, her memories returned and her fear started to train away.

But as it vanished, overwhelming sadness took its place. The Soul she had just known loved her more than anything in the world, and the Maka she had just been had loved him just as much in return. But they could not be, and even if deep down she knew she was not that Maka and the Soul she was chasing was not that Soul, she felt the tears well up as if they were.

She fell to her knees, still in the nightwear of sixteenth century Japan, and felt the sobs come despite her best efforts.

"How is this fair?" she asked in a croak once the sobs started to die down to leave her sniffling and rubbing her wet face. "Why are we doing this? Why us?"

The faceless man watched her in silence for a moment before speaking. "Because love transcends time, and finding it is half the challenge. Keeping it is the other half. If you were not meant to be, if you were both not up to the challenge, you would not be here."

"Love never lasts," she said, but even she knew her words were empty.

"Think back to where you just were," the faceless man said. "Do you really think the love you and the other watch owner just had won't last?"

She sniffled and rose to her feet, rubbing the last few tears from her eyes and under her nose with the back of her hand. "It couldn't in that time."

"And that is just one time, just one life. I just said, if it was not meant to be in your time, you wouldn't be on this quest. If that one love in that one time was supposed to be the one, would you be on this quest now?" He sighed. "The only way is forward. You know this. It is the only way you can return home."

She sniffled again, before taking a deep breath and rolling her shoulders back. "OK," she said finally. "Where to next?"

The faceless man gestured to the worn dress and apron perched on one of the mannequins. "Industrial late eighteenth century Scotland."


	5. Chapter 5

Maka startled awake just as the cockerel down the street started to crow. She breathed hard and tried to force her racing heart to slow down. After rubbing her face and trying to shake the last tendrils of smoky panic from her mind, she forced herself out of her warm bed and into her worn clothes.

As she did though, she felt an unfamiliar weight in her pockets.

Confused, she pulled the object out of her skirt and was stunned to see a pocket watch. For a moment she blinked at it, before she remembered her mother pressing it into her hand as a last gift while on her deathbed, shortly after her father passed. The memories made her heart hurt and her eyes sting.

She sighed and closed her fist around the watch. She must be more tired than she thought to forget a thing like that, but that was what happened when you worked two demanding jobs on less than four hours of sleep.

She then proceeded to walk around the small room she called her home to wake her younger siblings. Blake put up more of a fight than usual, but the others were compliant enough. She helped the youngest (technically the youngest still living) two—Tsugumi and Jackie—dress, and then went over to their little stove to make porridge.

Once her siblings had been fed, she led them out of the house and watched as they split off into three groups: two for school, and one for their morning job helping Father Justin spit-shine his ornamentations. Maka thanked God above for giving them such a generous priest as she watched them go. It was so much better than sending them up chimneys.

After locking up she headed down to her day job at one of the local bakeries, to help make bread and stoke the fires. It was hard work, but it still paid pretty well and helped provide some free food her siblings would probably starve without. She could have done a lot worse.

Joshua Buttataki, the owner of the bakery, was a kind man and a good employer. He was a man she respected, not just for his work, but also because he had known her parents and helped in the immediate aftermath of their passing.

As always, he greeted her at the back door, where all the ovens were kept. "Good morning, Maka! Sleep well?"

She shrugged and smiled tiredly as she tied her apron behind her back. "As well as always Joe."

He hummed and grabbed a basket of bread to take out to the front of the shop. "I'll believe that when Father Justin stops preaching hellfire to non-believes. You look like shit."

Maka laughed a little and picked up a basket herself to help him. "It was a rough night."

"Well, that's what you get when you work at a pub like that." His expression became sympathetic. "Though, we all understand, with such a large family of young ones…If you only ever asked Maka, we could—"

"No," she said quickly, putting the basket down out front and quickly heading back to the ovens to start preparing dough. "I've told you before Joe, I won't accept charity. If I can work, I will. I won't be a burden."

She pretended she did not see Joe's pitying expression, or the sympathetic ones of the other bakers.

* * *

By the time dinner had rolled around, storm clouds had rolled in from the sea, mixing with the smog from the local factories to turn the sky dark enough to look like dusk, blocking nearly all of the noon sun's light. Maka's exhaustion had increased exponentially throughout the morning, and she felt that if she closed her eyes for more than a second, she would fall asleep on her feet.

She felt sweat slide down her back as she pushed her hands into the dough in front of her, folding it over and over again. Her head started to spin and eventually she had to stop to steady herself, and try and catch her breath.

The back room she was working in suddenly felt far too hot, and she felt suffocated. She ripped her apron off and stumbled out of the door, trying to find somewhere cooler, somewhere she could actually _breathe_.

She went down the alley from the back to the front street, bracing herself against the wall as she went until she made it. She sucked in deep breaths and her felt a little clearer, though her throat was now parched.

Down the street she could see the pub she worked her nights in, serving and making money off hosts who were complacent with their purses. If her delirious mind, it made more sense to try and go there for a drink instead of back into the hot bakery. It would be cooler there, so early in the day there would be hardly anyone there. Maybe she could even close her eyes for a little bit.

Pushing herself off the wall, she set off down the street, trying her best to move out of the way of people, but this was made difficult by her spinning head. The ground almost felt like it was moving beneath her as she walked, and her head started spinning even faster, like the spinning top Papa had given her as a small child, before all the others came.

She bumped into someone, a man who was tall and broad, with stunningly pale hair, and when she turned around to apologise, the ground titled suddenly as her legs gave out, and her world became darkness.

* * *

The real world came back slowly, easing in and out of her mind. Sound returned first and she heard someone bustling above her quietly. Then came touch as something wet and cool pressed against her forehead, and she registered that she was lying on something soft.

For a brief moment she thought she might be home lying on a…couch? But as she blinked and opened her eyes, the thought faded away and she forgot it.

Above her hovered Mrs Marie Stein, her second employer and co-owner of the Hammer and Scythe pub. She could recognise the room around her as one of the bedrooms above the main tavern.

Marie sighed and sat back once Maka opened her eyes completely, and smiled weakly.

"You gave use quite a bit of a scare there Maka, passing out like that. Why, poor Mr Evans though you had died in his arms, he was so panicked!" she exclaimed, laughing a little, though it sounded forced and the worry was still clearly etched on her face.

Maka's face scrunched up in confusion. "Mr Ev…?" she trailed off when she noticed the other person in the room, a young man with extremely pale hair, the one she had bumped into earlier. "Oh."

Mr Evans cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um. Hello."

"Mr Evans is a regular here during the day," Marie supplied helpfully. "He had just left when he found you." Behind her Mr Evans nodded.

Maka swallowed and began to push herself upright. "Thank you for your help Mr Evans, and for your help too Marie, but I need to get back to the bakery, I—"

Marie grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back gently. "No, no, you stay there, you're not well. Frank sent Victor to go tell Joshua where you are, just rest now. You've been working yourself into the ground."

"But I have to," she tried to argue. "My family needs me."

Marie scowled. "No, you don't, if you'd just ask for help—"

"I don't want to be a burden!"

"You're not a burden Maka, for God's sake!" Marie blurted. "We're your godparents, it's our job to help. Frank thought it would be best at first to do as you asked and just let you work, but now we can't just stand by and watch you work yourself into your grave." She leaned down and cupped Maka's face tenderly. "We owe your parents more than that."

Maka felt something well up inside her that felt an awful lot like tears, but before they could get there, Marie leaned back and clapped her hands. "Now, I'll go get you some food and water so you can eat before you get a little rest. Mr Evans?" she said, turning to the man who had taken a step closer to the bed when Maka had tried to get up. "Can you stay and watch over her? She's rather persistent."

Maka pouted a little at that.

Mr Evans stood up straighter and nodded, before turning his gaze back to Maka. "I've got nowhere else to be."

Marie's smile grew into a grin and after saying a soft, "I'll be right back," she left the room.

For a moment Mr Evans stood on the other side of the room watching her, before approaching her slowly, taking a chair standing against the wall with him so he could sit beside her.

"How are you feeling?" he began slowly, keeping the chair at a reasonable distance from the bed.

Maka shrugged. "I've had worse, I guess. Still, not too good. Still tired."

He hummed in understanding and they both fell into silence.

After several minutes of fighting off sleep, Maka spoke in an effort to stay awake. "Thank you again Mr Evans for—"

"Soul," he interrupted. "My name is Soul."

She blinked for a moment before coming back to herself. "Oh, uh, well, then thank you Soul for helping me. Many would have just left me on the street."

Soul made a face that was almost like a glare before smoothing his features back into a neutral expression. "No need to thank me for being a decent human being," he said coolly.

Another pause ensued. This time it was Soul who broke the silence.

"Marie said you worked here?" he said, tone making it sound like a question. "But you mentioned a bakery?"

Her lips quirked up a little. "I have a little brother, and lots of little sisters. Feeding many mouths takes a lot of money, and most of them are too young to work. So I work for them."

His eyebrows furrowed. "But your parents?"

She felt the prickling behind her eyes return and turned her head so she was facing up towards the ceiling. "They died the winter before last. I was old enough to finish schooling and go to work so we didn't end up in an orphanage or work house. So we wouldn't get separated." She cleared her throat hurriedly before her voice could crack. "The little ones wouldn't have been able to handle it." She did not add that neither would have she.

"Oh," he said simply. After a moment he continued, "But working yourself to death won't help them either. They'll be left on their own and the responsibility will pass on to the next oldest."

She turned her head to watch him, and saw he was looking down at something clasped in her hands.

"You speak from experience?" she asked softly.

He laughed a little, the sound hollow and dark. "No. Haven't got any family to speak of, which I suppose is a blessing. No responsibility or shi— _stuff_ like that."

She could not help but giggle when he tried to cover his swearing. "You don't need to change your language around me, I work in a pub. I've heard much worse than a simple 'shit'."

He laughed with her, this time the sound a little more pleasing. "Fair enough then." After another pause he said, "What's it like? Having a large family I mean."

She shrugged. "Hectic. Exhausting. Frustrating as all hell when once acts out and then they all do because they think they can get away with it. But it's…nice. I have a family that loves me as much as I love them." She felt more stinging in her eyes. "They're all I have left."

From the corner of her eyes she watched him chew on his lip. "I know my advice might not help, but do you have something you could sell? It'd give you some money and let you take it easy for a bit while you recover."

She snorted and shook her head. "All we have is the house, the clothes on our backs, and meagre food supplies. And each other. Nothing I could ever sell…" She trailed off as she stuck her hand in her pocket, where the pocket watch still miraculously was. "Well I do have this," she whispered as she pulled it out.

He leaned closer and inspected it. "It certainly looks like it could fetch a pretty penny, with the right sort of work." But even as she said it, his voice turned a little soft and sounded far away.

"I could never sell it," she breathed, tracing the front design. "My-my parents…"

She trailed off again as something wriggled in the back of her mind, like she had forgotten to do something simple but important, like look the back gate.

She caught movement from her side and saw Soul reveal his own watch, the thing he had been clasping tightly in his hands. "I get it," he murmured, still in that far away voice. "My brother, he—."

He stopped himself and his gaze met hers sharply.

The cursive design on the front of his watch matched hers, though his watch was tarnished gold to her dulled silver. They moved their hands closer together, till they were almost touching. And then, simultaneously, they pressed the button at the top of their watches and watched as they sprung open.

Bright light flashed, and Maka knew no more.


	6. Chapter 6

Maka jerked awake and then groaned as her body complained loudly. This was why she hated falling asleep on the couch, it always left her stiff, aching, and full of regrets.

She hissed as she pried open the hand that fallen asleep clutching the stupid pocket watch her father had given her, grimacing as her fingers cracked. As she pushed herself upright, her neck throbbed, as did her spine as she forced her limbs to stretch out. Her neck protested to turning left, at least until she made it crack too, and she sighed when her spine popped satisfyingly.

Man, she had had a weird dream. Something to do with…well, she could not actually remember what it was to do with. All she could remember was a distinct feeling of success after a long wait, and the faint whispering of voice she could not recognise telling her that she had down well.

She stood up and did a full range of stretches. Well, whatever. It was just a dream. She forced it from her mind as she thought of what she had to do that day.

She had homework to do, and finances to sort out, and she would probably have to call her papa to thank him for the watch, because while it did not actually work, it was fairly pretty.

Loathe as she was to admit it, maybe the old man actually did understand her taste.

At the thought of her papa though, her heart twanged painfully. She _missed him_ she realised with surprise. She had only seen him three days before, but it felt like it had been longer, like it had been… _years_ since she had last seen him.

She closed the pocket watch and set it on her coffee table, rotating her wrist until it cracked too. She would call Papa, get on with some homework, go through her receipts and work out her budget, and then maybe go for a walk to clear her head.

Her dream was still swirling in her brain despite her best efforts, but she was determined to shake it off.

* * *

Or at least she tried to.

The dream continued to rattle around in her head, distracting her from her homework and leaving her papa worried about her distant tone of voice. She had managed to only _just_ talk him out of coming to check on her in person, thank god.

When mid-afternoon rolled around and the vestiges of her dream still haunted her, she decided to go for a walk slightly earlier than she had planned, to try and clear her head. The chill of autumn was finally settling in, and Maka kept her chin buried in her coat and her hands deep in her pockets as she walked.

The pocket watch that had started it all was clasped in one hand. She had meant to leave it at home, but it felt wrong to leave it behind. She felt tied to it now.

As she walked, she looked around, a strange mix of relief and nostalgia rushing over as she went, like she had not seen her neighbourhood in a long time.

She sighed in resignation and hunched her shoulders up to her ears. She needed to get out more, clearly, and probably lay off the sugary snacks before bed.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw something flash in the afternoon sun. She turned her head and her heart damn near stopped.

On the other side of the road was a man with white hair, also waking with his hands deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched.

And she felt like she knew him from somewhere, even though she knew deep down he was a stranger.

 _The dream._

The faceless man, the empty room, all the lives she had lived, and the time she had spent chasing the white haired man. The white haired man. Soul. Her soulmate.

She stood frozen, watching as he moved down the street in the way she had come. Someone running in the opposite direction to him bumped into him, and she watched them both stumble as something fell out of the white haired man's pocket. He righted himself and kept on walking, not noticing something had fallen out of his pocket.

She stared for a moment longer, before making the impulsive decision to run across the road and scoop up the thing he had dropped.

It was a golden pocket watch, just as tarnished as hers, just like she remembered from the dream. She inspected it for a moment before running after the white haired man.

"Hey!" she called out and he jumped, whirling round to face her, eyes wide in shock. She stopped in front of him and held out his watch with a small smile. "You dropped this. Just now."

He blinked, and opened and closed his mouth several times as his gaze moved to the watch resting in her palm. "I…thank you."

She grinned, feeling giddy and ridiculous and shy all at once when his skin brushed hers as he took the watch from her hand. His eyes were intense and familiar when they met hers. She pulled out her own watch and his expression started to mirror hers: a small smile that was as hopeful as it was shy.

"Hi," she said breathlessly as she took a step closer to him, tilting her head back more so she could keep meeting his eyes, given how tall he was.

"Hey," he murmured back, voice deep and rumbling in a way she was sure she had not heard before.

She chuffed a little laugh and smiled so wide her cheeks were starting to hurt. "Long time no see."

* * *

And there we have it, my reverb! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, go check out the artwork and don't forget to review!


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